


Peter Grant and the wizard and the days that never came

by Wanderer_im_Sternenmeer



Category: Rivers of London - Ben Aaronovitch
Genre: Doctor-Who-inspired, Friendship, Gen, Nightingale you said yourself that everything is real, Petr is a whovian I am a Whovian so what did you expect, Time Travel, While I am stuck with it till a-levels, Yes I know he actually didn't have Latin in school I decided that he just quit it early, little Peter Grant, obviously
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-10
Updated: 2016-12-22
Packaged: 2018-09-07 16:05:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8807299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wanderer_im_Sternenmeer/pseuds/Wanderer_im_Sternenmeer
Summary: Rivers of London meets wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey stuff.Currently on hiatus, can't possibly tell whether there is ever gonna be a new update, sorry!





	1. Prologue

“When you wake up, your life will move a complete different way, and you won’t even remember me. Well. You’ll remember me a little. I will be a story in your head, but that’s okay. We are all stories in the end. Just make it a good one, right? Because it was, you know, it was the best. A broken soldier who stole a magic ring and ran away, desperately looking for peace and finding a little boy. Did I even ever tell you that I stole it? Well, I borrowed it-I was always planned take it back. And the Folly, Peter. You’ll dream about that house, it’ll never leave you. Big and little at the same time. Brand new and ancient. The creepiest maid ever, as you would say. And the times we had, right…? Would have had… Never had. In your dreams they will still be there. Peter Grant and the wizard. And the days that never came.”


	2. Their first meeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that it took me so long to post this, I do not usually write in English. I also excuse for any mistakes you may find. If you do find any, please tell me and I would be happy to correct them.  
> Hope you like it!

Peter met the wizard for the first time at the age of ten.

He was sitting on his bed, listening to his mother’s voice. She was on the phone with some weird relative little Peter had never ever met. In his lap layed his book for Latin classes. So he was in a really grumpy mood. Not even because it was difficult to concentrate with a Sierra Leone woman talking at top of lungs next room but also these damn words just refused to stay in his head. But there was a test tomorrow, he had to try at least. Lux… lynx. Wait, no, something else. A quick glance down to the pages-

“Light! How am I supposed to remember this?!”, he exclaimed irritatedly and threw himself onto his bed, the open book covering his eyes. “Perhaps, if I leave this book there for a while, these stupid words will fall out of it and into my head.” Perhaps that was a silly hope, after all. But also his only real chance to pass this test.

“Aww, what the hell. Next chance given, I will quit, never gonna need Latin anyway.” For a second, Peter thought he felt a cold sweep of air, bringing with it a smell of dust and emptiness. A scrape of a knife carving something into wood. When he grabbed the book and pulled it off his face, there was a white man sitting in his room. He was crouched on the floor, his knees drawn up, arms hugging around them tightly. Seeming oblivious that he was at a place people like him did not usually show up. While Peter stared at him for a few moments, it occurred to him for a second that presumably the normal reaction should be going: “Mum, there is a man in my room, he seems to be crying and- gee whillakers, did I also mention the line of silver light that is dematerialising before my eyes?” Well, Peter didn’t do this for two reasons. First: Nobody would care because nobody would hear. His mum was still on the phone and his dad was most surely stoned. Second: Suddenly the man opened his eyes, looking up at Peter after taking his surroundings confusedly. Although his face was still wet with tears and he was bearing a look of unspeakable pain he managed a strangled, unhappy smile.

“I hope I did not scare you.” The man’s voice was a bit rough, like he had recently been screaming pretty much.

“How did you get into my room?”, Peter asked. He still wasn’t afraid, just curious. After all, this was the most exciting thing ever to happen in his room. The man let out a laugh that sounded like it hurt.

“Would you believe me”, he coaxed, “that I can travel in time?” Whovian Peter Grant nodded immediately, of course.

“Think so. But why of all places and times my room?”

“It is not when and where I should actually be right now.” The man’s gaze was going blank, his voice quieter. Peter started to feel weird, standing and looking down at the man, so he sat down in front of him. With their faces at the same level, Peter could see into the deep blue eyes of the man, more bright than they should be. The whole man was unhealthily skinny, thin, a stubble on his chin and jaw. The look of someone who really did not care in which condition he was in. For a second, they just looked at each other, until the man spoke up.

“What is your name?” Actually, Peter’s mum had always taught him not to tell some stranger his name. But he guessed he could make an exception for time travellers bleeding out on his floor.

“Peter Grant.” And because he was polite, he asked: “What’s yours?” The man smiled a weak smile.

“Thomas Nightingale.” Peter considered that a moment. Until he came up with:

“That’s a weird name.” It sounded like Nightingale’s first real laugh in a very long time.

“You are even right about this, you know.”

“What is wrong with from when you come from?” He really was proud of this sentence. When the man’s face turned dark, Peter thought he would not answer. But then he began to talk.

“It is 1945, after the War, do they still talk about it in this time? We were at war for years, lost so many people, we should be grateful that it is over and we defeated the Germen. We should go on living our lives. But some can’t, you know? Me, for example. There was this place in Germany, Ettersberg. Horrible, our worst nightmare. If the people there would have been allowed to continue, they would have brought a terrible peril to the world. So we decided to go there, the greatest part of the British wizards, to destroy it. I consulted, I advised, I begged them to just bomb it, without risking any of our men. But they would not listen to me, I don’t even know, why. They sent us in there and I went, too, of course. I had the command over a troop myself, fifty men. I could just save three of them. Fourty-seven people I was responsible for and who I could not protect. Hundred others I watched die because I could not manage to convince the commanders to bomb the camp. So I just do not want to be in my old school, which is empty and dead now, carving the name of each and every fallen into the walls, trying to forget that so many of them are my fault. It may be childish, but should I not at least be allowed to try and run away from my guilt?” While he talked, tears began to stream down his face. His voice broken but carrying him till the end. His last question sounded so helpless, so pleading for understanding, that Peter unconsciously placed his hand on Nightingale’s shoulder. For a second, the older man tensed slightly, as if he was still expecting someone to attack him. Then he started calming down until Peter decided it was save now to remove his hand. The boy wondered whether he should try to distract his guest. And as it would not change during the years to come, he just spoke freely off his mind.

“Where’s your TARDIS?” Nightingale looked really distracted now. Distracted by genuine, complete confusion.

“Excuse me, my what?!”

“TARDIS. Time And Relative Dimension In Space. Your time machine. You must have one.”

“Well, I am truly sorry to disappoint you, but I do not use a machine to travel in time. My device is more… something like a ring.” He held up his right hand. On his index finger a deep-blue stone catched some light, surrounded by silver, somewhat Celtic-looking ornaments. For a second, Peter was a bit disappointed that he would not get to see a police box that was bigger on the inside. Then curiosity got the best of him.

“A ring? How does this work.”

“It does not ‘work’ in the way you may imagine. Peter, can you keep a secret?” Peter nodded, very seriously.

“I am a wizard.”

“No kidding!”, it slipped from Peter. Not even for one second, he doubted that Nightingale was telling him anything but the truth. There had been no glister in his eye, no merely concealed trembling of his mouth. He had been completely earnest. So, Peter was paid a visit by a wizard from World War Two. Actually, he thought, it was a pity no one would believe him. Would have been quite a story, really.

“But you will go back, won’t you?” Even though he looked not exactly thrilled by the thought, Nightingale nodded.

“I have to. Times are hard, they are going to need every one they have in the Folly. Nevertheless, I have a time-travel-device, so I can go… on some journeys before I head back.”

“Could you take me on a journey, too?” Yes, Peter knew it was not the Doctor standing in his room, but it could not hurt to ask, right?

“Believe me”, Nightingale said very quietly, “you don’t want to be with me right now.” Slowly, he started to stand up. He stopped for a moment to lock eyes with Peter. His slightly trembling lips formed a half-smile.

“This is not the last time we meet, I promise you. I do not know when, but I will find you again.” Peter felt the air buzzing, like something was building up, growing stronger and stronger. Then, as if the boy had closed his eyes the wrong moment, the wizard was gone.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ouufh, it's done. Whattaya say?  
> Btw, does anybody know how old Peter is in the books? I would say thirtyish, but we don't learn how old exactly, do we?


End file.
